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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234274">salvation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertLily/pseuds/DesertLily'>DesertLily</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [27]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras-centric, Execution, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Oreste à Jeun et Pylade Ivre | Orestes Fasting and Pylades Drunk, Permets-tu? | Do You Permit It?, Pining Enjolras, Reflection, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:00:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27234274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertLily/pseuds/DesertLily</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thoughts of Enjolras as he makes a final stand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [27]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946296</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>salvation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the 'execution' prompt for Whumptober</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alexandre Enjolras had never feared death. At least, he had never feared his own death. As long as he died for what he believed in, he would die with his head held high. It was the death of others that he feared. The people of France. His friends. Jean Prouvaire’s final cry before a gunshot silenced them forever. The bodies of his friends scattered on the ground and truly void of life. They were proof that his dream was dead. He would not live to see a new day rise; to see France finally free. But he would die with his friends. He would die for his beliefs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had been a possibility from the start. He knew that. They all did. Every meeting of Les Amis de l’ABC - every piece of planning - had occurred with the knowledge that they may not succeed. They had built the barricade with this knowledge. They had gotten ready to fight with this knowledge. But it wasn’t until the first gunshot fired that Enjolras truly understood what death was; what it was like to experience that unrelenting fear. Because he was scared and only a fool would claim otherwise.  Enjolras made no effort to show that fear for it was one all of them shared. It was also the one that made them all look to him. After all, if Enjolras was fine then the rest of them would be too. It was that near-blind trust that would get them all killed. </span>
</p><p><span>But it wasn’t as if all of them shared his ideals. There was Grantaire. Grantaire who had skulked away to drink once the fighting had started. Grantaire that criticised his every word. Grantaire that believed in him. </span><em><span>Grantaire that he loved</span></em> <em><span>and knew to love him back</span></em><span>. Enjolras was not a fool. He knew the way the other man looked at him. R, who believed in </span><em><span>nothing</span></em><span>, believed in him. In one of his only moments of reflection, Enjolras wished he had told Grantaire some of what he felt - if only so the two would finally get a moment together. If only so Enjolras could finally understand what it meant to be loved. But he didn’t. There was no time for love or relationships when it came to revolution. No matter how much his own heart protested the matter. And it did protest. There was the smallest of aches in his chest every time he dismissed or scrutinised Grantaire. But it was necessary. All of this was. </span></p><p>
  <span>In all honesty, Enjolras was glad that R had left and gone to do what drunks did best; drink. Perhaps he would love through this. After all, Grantaire had far grander things to show the world than revolution. It had only been a few times but Enjolras had seen the man’s sketches before - including a startling number that were simply of himself. The detail on them was stunning and there was an underlying raw talent. It was oddly inspiring, in its own way. Grantaire had taken the images and dreams within his head and brought them to life through the use of a pencil and paper. Perhaps Enjolras could achieve the same. But it wasn’t sketches that he used. It was words. Pamphlets, speeches, and every other method he could think of were used to preach abolitionist ideals. Grantaire drew art out of nihilism, Enjolras preached revolution out of optimism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Enjolras felt oddly defiant when he found himself cornered on the second floor of the Corinthe. There was no fear in his eyes as he glanced at each gun pointed at him. Perhaps this would be it but he would die for his ideals. He would not be captured nor would he surrender. He was a man built on ideals of revolution and he would die by them. Everyone else he cared about was dead, so why should he be scared or worried? He had nothing left to lose. And there was no nobler death than dying for your own ideals. Enjolras allowed himself an almost amused smile as he stood against the wall. In one hand he clutched a blood-soaked flag. The other lay empty by his side.  If this was to be how he died then he would be okay with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the most unexpected thing happened. A voice broke through the room as the guards got ready to take aim. A very familiar voice. Then, as if appearing from a dream, Grantaire appeared at the top of the steps. For the first time, he declared himself a revolutionary. He claimed himself a believer in a cause he had never before cared for. But he was not declaring it to the National Guard. Not really. Not when his gaze was focused entirely on Enjolras.  In that single look, the two finally understood each other. They would never get a lifetime together but perhaps they could have this moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether out of shock or pity, the guards allowed Grantaire to make his way to Enjolras’s side. He had accepted that he would die alone but somehow...somehow this was better. If he could have chosen anyone to be with him, it would have been R. It would have been to have this final moment with him. Neither had been able to express their love in life so now all they truly had was death. If this was to be it, then there was no one else Enjolras would rather be with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grantaire’s voice was soft as it spoke words only Enjolras was supposed to hear, “Do you permit it?” In all honesty, Enjolras didn’t know what he was asking. Was he asking permission to love Enjolras? To be by his side? To die with him? Though, the question didn’t matter. Not really. Not when the answer would remain the same. All the questions had a single answer but it was not one Enjolras would ever speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he pressed Grantaire’s hand to his. He interwound their fingers and held R’s hand with a strength he had not known himself to possess. Just for that final moment, not even Heaven or Hell would have been able to tear the two apart.  They were finally united. Enjolras couldn’t help it. He found himself smiling. But this was not an amused smile or one of any sort of mockery. It was one of fondness; of acceptance; </span>
  <em>
    <span>of love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The smile had not finished when the report resounded.<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and kudos are always appreciated or hmu @ desert-lily on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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